


The Man In The Pompadour Wig

by Muonna



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: M/M, Mostly just TERRIBLE AWKWARD ROMANCE PRECURSOR RN, Other, no actual romance yet w, who knows - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 18:34:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6250879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muonna/pseuds/Muonna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two awkward men bonding over mutual losses, in a post-institute world. Deacon finds himself needing to confide in a friend, the only friend he has.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Man In The Pompadour Wig

**Author's Note:**

> I might continue this, we'll see how it goes.  
> Mostly, I just love Deacon and empathize with him quite a lot. I feel like any romantic stuff would be incredibly awkward and he'd be loathe to instigate for all sorts of reasons, and I also feel like he's a bit useless with his emotions so like, yeah. Maybe I'll continue this, but for now treat it as a one-shot with minor romantic undertones.   
> If you want to follow me on twitter for more updates it's @jayisanerd and my tumblr is lindiranae. :)

Louis had felt much the rebel with the cause, had the dark haired, awkwardly handsome man, with his crooked nose, split-scar lip, shaggy long hair pulled back into a ponytail, and dark, sad, circled eyes. He'd joined the railroad after listening to Nick talk about his struggles living as a synth in diamond city, after listening to the tale of the kid with the wrench reaching inside, free of fear, to reconnect wires and reposition the plastic of his face. As far as Louis was concerned, Nick was as human as he was, as worthy of respect as anyone. 

Nick had done as much for him as any biologically birthed being. But every friendship could run its course- just as it had with Piper and just as he'd left Codsworth with Dogmeat, tending the bushes in the burned out ruins of Sanctuary, he realized he had to leave Nick behind. Nick could do good in Diamond City, improving synth relations was just as important as rescuing them. Of course, he visited regularly, but after a certain point, he'd realized he and Nick walked different paths. Not from difference, or argument, but more for necessity- Nick needed to be there for the people of Diamond City, and at this point, Louis was a wanderer, never putting down ties, coming and going with the weather.   
And with him for the period after he parted ways with Nick was Deacon. Sarcastic, enigmatic Deacon who's voice had followed him round the commonwealth -filling him with a constant deja vu of "have I met you before?"-, meeting eyes with the same face beneath the costume of a guard, a caravaneer, a wandering settler. Sad eyes, tired eyes, lined with the effort of years. His wig masked his hair colour but he never bothered covering his eyebrows; he costumed his body in various outfits and always covered his face but there was only so much you could do to mask the feeling in your eyes. Louis had stared at him, studying him from the sidelines in much the same way he imagined that Deacon was doing to him.

It had been with a sense of familiarity that he had greeted Deacon, recognizing the drawl and the voice before he recognized the face. Deacon -Deeks as Louis had come to call him- had been one of the first faces he saw at the Railroad. After he had followed the bright red painted lines. Part of Louis had wondered how they stayed covert with such an obvious marker pointing him in the right direction, but then, most wouldn't run straight through Super-Mutant territory. He'd faced Desdemona and stated, with as much sincerity as his sarcastic demeanor could muster, that he was here for synths. He had meant it, all 6"2 of him. 

In the old world, he'd fought for freedom, for the American people. That same sense of duty still affected his every action. Now he fought for the freedom of the commonwealth, for synthetics who were enslaved, and for the men who he called his friend.

"I think I should tag along, if it's all the same to you. You've caught my eye, I gotta say. I'm curious as to if you cut the same impressive figure in person." Deacon had said.   
"Sure thing", Louis had replied. and that had been that. A huge part of him wanted to impress Deacon, to show him what he could do, so there had been wisecracking and sharpshooting a plenty. The man in the pompadour wig intrigued him, in more ways than one. Louis had been enough a soldier, retained the under cut and the scars, to know when he looked into another man's eyes and saw pain, saw a checkered past, saw himself reflected.

It had been nose to the grindstone for a while, taking down the institute. There hasn't been much time to get to know his new found partner, but Louis had watched. Deacon carried himself cautiously, mocking up a demeanour of carefree nonchalance, but Louis saw his careful footwork, the way he stood, constantly poised to flee. His companion handled his firearm with experience: finger always perched on the safety, mods expertly affixed, grey eyes down the ironsides. And his conversation. none of it was real, it was all bullshit. A front to hide the man beneath. Louis had seen the same ill advised bravado, the same swagger to hide how much you shook in your boots, the same grandstanding, in his time in the army. In raw recruits and vets alike. Wahanged men, made them into characters, it was the only way to cope. Deacon was no raw recruit. He hadn't seen war, sure , but there was something in his eyes. A pain, a hollow sadness that Louis saw when he looked in the mirror. The pain of loss. That much he had been able to deduce, the rest of it was a mystery. Other companions, those who had grown to call him friend, had usually stayed behind at various settlements, or at Diamond City or Goodneighbor or Bunker Hill. He couldn't bear to make friends, to lose what he had lost again. He always maintained a meaningful distance, but in this case he felt as though Deacon was a puzzle who needed to be cracked.

Yes, Louis had spent lots of time staring at himself in the mirror, every cracked reflection showing the same thing. A man, tired, scarred from service, tanned from the rads, black hair under cut and scooped into a ponytail and brown eyes sad, dark, tired. Sometimes Lou felt like when he looked at Deacon he was looking in a different sort of mirror. He knew Deacon saw it too, for he saw that selfsame look of recognition every time that man dipped his glasses to flash a wink, check a dark room, clean the lenses of his shades. A lot of the undercurrent of their relationship was said with the eyes, both of them with quick, sarcastic tongues and a wry sense of humour, as well as a tendency to dodge the difficult questions. 

They'd grown truly close in the weeks following the destruction of the institute. He had stood with Deacon, watched the smouldering crater, seen it reflected in his shades. They hadn't spoken much during that time but he could see, Deacon was thinking. The man had turned with a sigh and turned his back to the crater, to the guilt of crumbling rubble and lit embers and a past life long since abandoned. It had been dusk, and Lou had followed him, giving him all the space he needed. Heck, he needed a bit of space for himself.   
There had been no banter, no wry sarcasm, no running commentary. Just silence he was unaccustomed to, silence he didn't know how to fill. Usually, they joked, commented on their surroundings, talked about ways to mess with Tom or what Deacon should dress as next, but tonight there was nothing.

It had taken setting up a campfire for Lou to see the way that the light bounced from Deacons pitted cheeks was not right, that he was crying. His shades otherwise covered up his eyes. Lou felt awkward, but said nothing. What could he say? 

Eventually, he cleared his throat.

"You alright there bud?" he called across the campfire, molerat kebab clutched in his hand. Deacon pinched the bridge of his nose.   
"I'm gonna -I'm gonna level with you here, no. No I am not."   
Lou nodded, took a bite from his kebab and chewed slowly. He was good at dodging emotional implications -after all he had been refusing to properly confront the reality of his situation, the dull tug in his heart. It was why he and deacon got on so well, it was the kind of emotional grandstanding they were both good at. Dodging their emotions through quick wit and self depreciation, joking away their thoughts. However, a consequence of this was that he was utterly shite at opening up emotionally, at even realizing his emotions, let alone discussing them with others. And he imagined Deeks was exactly the same- he couldn't open up any more than he could hear other people open up without turning it into a joke, or making some quick witted riposte.

Him and Deacon had spoken a little, in the past. Enough that Lou felt he could bestow upon him a nickname, consider him a friend, but not enough that he could fully trust him. Not yet. So much was a front, so much was up in the air. Lou could tell his companion was lying but beyond that was a mystery, one that he, yes wanted to unravel, to unwrap, to work out, but one that was still too enigmatic to fully trust.

"What's up Deek?" he asked, his tone reminiscent of a certain cartoon bunny rabbit. A reference, he realized, that was completely lost on Deacon. Add it to the pile of terrible old world jokes he'd have to explain: not that his companion minded, he rather enjoyed being disparaging of old world humour. Perhaps, though, at a different time.  
Deacon stared into the flames for a while but said nothing. He was clearly measuring his words, working out how best to speak whilst giving little away. Lou could see it.  
"Destroying the institute, we did it". He wiped his face with a palm, a heavy sigh. "But that can't change what I'm running from." Without a moment's hesitation, Deacon removed his shades for the first time that Lou could think of that was nothing to do with needing to clean them, or check out a dark room. The dark, steely grey eyes that greeted him were rimmed red and, clearly, he was upset.

"D'you remember what I told you when we first met, about not trusting anybody?"   
"Was this before or after we choose 'killer bunnies' as our codename?" Lou said, mentally scolding himself for not being able to resist a quip. His scorn lessened when he saw Deacons thin lips curl into a slight smile, and he snorted.

"After that, boss".   
Lou nodded, of course he did. The note was still in his pocket and he said as much, smoothed it out and showed it to his partner across the fire. Deacon raised his eyebrows.  
"You kept that?" something in his voice sounded touched, but he covered it quickly by continuing on. "And yeah, that. Well, boss, I uh, I wouldn't trust me either, if I were you. There's a reason why I'm in the Railroad, why we started it all up. It's why I'm...doing what I'm doing. Got a lot to atone for "   
Lou paused. "Is it the ginger? Because, you know, in my day people were accepting of it. I would never judge you for your eyebrows"  
Deacon, again snorted. "You noticed that, yeah? You passed my secret test." For a moment, he stared into the fire and was silent. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, serious. "There's a reason I dress up and never stay in one place too long. And it ain't to do with the Railroad. I, I have a history". 

Lou could see he was dropping the act, that the veneer of carefree nonchalance was fading and he was peeking inside, behind the shades. He locked eyes with Deacon, and himself was serious for a minute.  
"Hey, man. I'm here for ya, I'm a friend of yours and if you need anything just let me know. I trust you."  
"Almost makes it harder for me to say this now boss. I...cheers, though. You're a better friend than I deserve". Lou felt a certain sense of pride at being called a friend, as though he has truly earned it.   
"I used to have a... a wife. You know, she was my world. We ran a farm out Jamaica Plain way and lived a good life. It wasn't much but I had her...and something from my past came and it bit me in the ass. Stupid teenage hijinks. This was right after the broken mask incident so, tensions were high. I was a kid growing up in a society that hated synths and... you do. you do stuff, y'know?"  
Lou nodded and took another bite from his molerat kebab; now cold and rather gristly. He couldn't quite work out I'd that improved the flavour or not.   
"You were a kid, Deeks. kids do dumb shit. Hell I know I did."  
"We almost killed a synth... lynched them. Only maybe they weren't synths and we just heard rumours, or, or saw some old guy acting weird y'know. Maybe he looked at us funny. Some of them were synths then, sure, but sometimes I think only humans bleed that way."

Lou nodded. "Hey, sometimes it's like that out here. You seen the striders. Could easily have turned into that. Every war has collateral damage". He wasn't sure if he was saying that for himself, or for Deacon, or maybe both. It was something he had, at times, needed to hear. Especially at points where, for instance, he had put a gun to Kellogg, or his own son.

"No don't say that." Deacon raised his voices slightly, angry at himself more than Lou. There, he locked eyes with his friend. "Don't make excuses for me. What I did, it was horrible. And it got my wife killed. Cause stupid kids grow up and realize they don't want to hurt folks no more and then that stupid gang finds ya and they-"  
He was getting worked up, his voice wavering with anger, sadness, bitterness. Lou didn't know what to do or say. What could he say to that? He paused and when he spoke, he was sincere.

"It's ok. I got the picture. and I still want to be your friend, Deacon. I destroyed the Institute with your help. You made mistakes. Hell we all have. You aren't that person. And you're talking to a guy who watched his wife get shot in front of him. Hell I just blew up my son..." he paused, sighed a deep heavy sigh. Lou was beginning to think nobody in this world got to live with a guilt free conscience, not in this world that they had exploded into being- a big bang, sure, but destroying as much as it had created. Nothing was black and white anymore. Sometimes, shedding blood was necessary.

Deacon however, hung on one phrase.  
"After that, you want to be my friend? I can't even look myself in the eye, I can't look at my face. There's a reason I'm always chopping and changing this mug”. He gestured at his face as he said it, waving his hand and then sighing deeply.

"I mean I'd only had a choice all I'm saying is I'd go for a slightly better ensemble but, beggars can't be choosers" Lou grinned, and Deacon smiled back, a soft smile, a look on his face that Lou had not seen before: admiration, trust perhaps. "And yeah, I wanna be your friend. The past is past. You clearly regret it and you're doing good work. I wanna be a part of that..." he pause to put his kebab down the fully stare at Deacon, with what he hired was a comforting smile.

Deacon sat in silence, staring into the flames for a moment, shades hanging off a curled forefinger.   
"Thanks boss." he whispered. "Now, I need to say this and get it over with. I'm not that great at the emotional stuff, so if you could keep it down and let me get it over with I'd appreciate it."   
Lou look at him, locked eyes with him and nodded. 

"When I joined the railroad I never really felt like I belonged there. Always worried someone was gonna find out my past, you know. I had a lot to run from. Always had that past catching up with me, that's kinda why I kept moving. I don't want to get attached. But you, you I am getting attached to." he stopped talking and put his shades back on, eyes covered once more.   
Lou paused and said nothing for a while.  
"I'd like to consider us friends at best, competitive allies at worst. Just for the record, I'm winning the style round." he grinned.  
Deacon raises an eyebrow. "Sure, that 70s 'just got chased by a nuclear blast and all I got was this vault suit' look really suits ya, boss. Maybe I should get in on that action, if we're gonna buddy up. Matching costumes".   
Lou laughed, all too glad to be back to the joking and teasing, feeling slightly closer to Deacon after their heart to heart: even if heart to hearts weren't his thing. It felt like progress and progress was a boon by his standards.  
"Hey, Deeks" he called over to the man opposite him. "I couldn't ask for a better partner. I got your back".  
Deacon, again, looked taken aback but he reciprocated with a "and I got yours boss."

Then both men retreated to their respective sleeping bags, setting in for a well earned kip. Deep in the ruins of a building just outside of Cambridge, the two men settled in to their beds.


End file.
